


rodeo and juliet

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Barrel Racer!Ingrid, City Slicker!Sylvain, F/M, Horse Movie AU, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: This is going to be the worst summer of Sylvain's life. He's been sent to live with his Uncle Lonato, out in the middle of nowhere with nothing for company but horses. He's prepared to slog through it in the same way he does everything, but when he meets Ingrid Galatea, he's forced to reconsider.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	rodeo and juliet

**Author's Note:**

> this is my sylvgrid bb!!! i worked with the amazing @starrymatcha on twitter, and had such a wonderful time working on this fic! it's a very goofy, fun AU, and i hope you enjoy it! thanks for reading!

The nearest airport to his Uncle Lonato is over a two hour drive, but the train station goes right through town, so Sylvain wasn’t even allowed to take a plane to get there. No one seemed to care that it was a huge pain in the ass for Sylvain, or that what would have been a three hour flight was instead an eighteen hour train ride. No, all that mattered was that his Uncle wasn’t inconvenienced, as though the fact that Sylvain was visiting him at all wasn’t a huge inconvenience for the both of them.

This is going to be a nightmare. A trip to his uncle out West wasn’t at all what he’d been planning for this summer. He’s a junior in college - he should be out partying, or doing an internship, or any number of things that aren’t helping his Uncle on his tiny farm in the middle of nowhere.

By the time the train pulls into the station, Sylvain’s looped around from tired and annoyed to just plain annoyed. This is going to be the worst summer ever. 

-

Sylvain is greeted by a loud, shrieking neigh when they get to the stables. He jumps, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. It’s haunting and pervasive, like the wind through the trees, or something crying out in misery. 

His grip on his suitcase tightens. “What’s that?”

Lonato frowns. “Ah. That would be Rodeo.”

Sylvain follows his gaze across the yard, to the round pen. A dark brown horse trots back and forth. His flexed neck and flared nostrils tell Sylvain there’s something dangerous about this creature: he shouldn’t turn his back on that thing.

“Rodeo?”

Lonato’s expression sours further. “He’s a menace. We’re going to have to sell him, at this rate. He injured someone just last week, and he’s untrainable. Don’t worry about him.”

Sylvain follows Lonato into the house without another word, but just before he steps inside, he glances back over his shoulder, looking for the horse. A menace. Untrainable.

He’d know something about that.

-

When Sylvain is eleven years old, his parents go on a vacation to try to rekindle the spark in their marriage. Miklan uses it as an excuse to have a party, and Sylvain uses the party as an excuse to spend the night at Felix’s house.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave,” he says to Felix.

Felix is nine, and doesn’t have the same kind of worldly wisdom that Sylvain does. He nods though, full of his belief that the world is a good place and that Sylvain is a good person. “Okay!” he says. “You can hide under my bed when your parents come to get you. I’ll pretend you ran away.”

Sylvain laughs. “Your dad’ll tell!”

Felix shakes his head, his cheeks puffed up full of air. “Nuh-uh! I’ll make Glenn help convince him.”

Belonging to a family like the Fraldariuses sounds nice. Sylvain knows what Felix is saying won’t come to pass, but he lets himself imagine it anyway. 

-

“Get dressed,” Lonato says. “And stop looking so sorry for yourself.”

Sylvain scowls. He’s curled on the couch, scrolling through his social media and watching all his friends have a way better time than he currently is. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a barrel racing competition,” Lonato says. “We’re going.”

Sylvain’s Uncle Lonato is a kindly man, but there’s no arguing with the set of his jaw. He sighs. “Fine.” He couldn’t care less about barrel racing, but he drags himself off the couch and upstairs without another word. He’s already a problem; he doesn’t need to make things worse.

The drive to the barrel racing competition is a short, quiet one. Sylvain is steadfastly determined to hate it, but the bright lights and slow, crooning country music draw him in nonetheless. He’s reluctant to admit it, but there’s something hypnotizing about this. They take their seats in the stands just in time for the first rider, and Sylvain settles in to watch.

It’s dizzyingly fast; Sylvain can’t keep track of the pattern. The horses move too quickly for his eye to follow, leaning close to the ground as they hug each barrel, so close to touching it and yet somehow, despite everything, keeping a distance. The competition passes in a rush. Sylvain is at the edge of his seat by the time the last rider lines up.

Lonato watches him with a small smile, but Sylvain ignores him, his attention fixed on the blonde in a tan cowboy hat and sparkly blue shirt. Her horse seems smaller than the others, a pale cream mare with a wide white stripe down the middle of her face. The announcer reads some details that go over his head, and the girl glances up, squinting at the crowd with a small frown. She pats her horse's neck once, and then a bell rings and they’re off.

Sylvain doesn’t have to watch the clock to know they’re the fastest pair he’s seen today. They breeze through the incomprehensible pattern, bolting to the finish line leagues quicker than anyone else. He’s still watching the last spot where the pair of them were once the competition ends, finally gathering his wits enough to say, dumbfounded, “Who _was_ that?”

Lonato lets out a soft laugh. “Ingrid Galatea. She’s the top barrel racer in her age group.”

Sylvain nods, eyes wide. “I can see why.”

Lonato glances at him, a sly smile on his face. “Would you like to meet her? She does work for me sometimes. I can introduce you two.”

Sylvain bites back a smile. “Yeah. That’d be great.” 

Ingrid’s a girl. He knows how to talk to girls. This is going to be great.

Lonato navigates through the fairgrounds with a practiced ease that leaves Sylvain feeling even more out of place than he already does. Sylvain pulls at the cuffs of his plaid shirt, uncomfortable.

Ingrid is with her horse and a few others. Her horse is tied to the trailer, and her cowboy hat is discarded on the boot of the trailer. Without it, Sylvain makes note of her piercing green eyes and narrow face, and her bright blonde hair hanging in two braids. He smiles, tossing a wink her way, which she seems not to see at all. Oh well. He’ll win her over soon enough.

Lonato walks up to her without any hesitation, clearing his throat once they’re a few feet away. “Ingrid.”

She looks up, narrowing her eyes. “Lonato! Everything alright?”

“Right as rain,” Lonato replies. He claps Sylvain on the shoulder, squeezing. “I just wanted to introduce you to someone. This is my nephew Sylvain. He’ll be staying with me this summer.”

Ingrid nods. “Right.”

Sylvain smiles. “Hey.”

Ingrid turns back to her horse, running a hand down her neck and scratching at the base of her mane. Lonato lifts his hand. “I’m going to go talk to your trainer,” he says to Ingrid. “I had some business to discuss.”

He walks away, leaving Sylvain and Ingrid standing together in silence. This is fine. Sylvain has hit on plenty of girls. He leans up against the trailer, letting his smile creep a little further across his face. “So, how long have you been riding?”

Ingrid doesn’t look up. “As long as I can remember.” 

“Cool,” he says. “What’s your horse’s name? I didn’t catch it when the announcer said it.”

She turns. A victory, maybe? “Mietta.” Ingrid smiles as she says the horse’s name, as though she can’t help it. Her face returns to flat and uninterested, eyes narrowed and mouth slanted downwards as soon as she’s finished speaking, but Sylvain saw her smile once. He’ll see it again, if he’s lucky.

“She’s pretty,” he says, letting his eyes run over the two of them. The horse noses against Ingrid’s side, and she smiles, going back to scratching Mietta’s neck and leaning up against her. Sylvain can’t help but be jealous.

Look at him. He’s been here barely a week and he’s already jealous of a horse. Felix is going to make fun of him for the rest of their lives.

Ingrid straightens a little. “She is, isn’t she? She’s a great horse.”

Sylvain’s smile creeps a little further across his face. “You’re pretty too, you know. The two of you make quite a pair.”

Ingrid’s smug almost-smile drops from her face, replaced by a sneer. “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” Sylvain says. “I was trying to be nice.”

She scowls. “Stop trying.” 

Ingrid turns around with an air of finality, and after a few seconds, Sylvain walks away to find Lonato.

-

The first thing Sylvain sees is Ingrid when he marches into the barn the next morning. She’s standing next to Rodeo’s stall, arms crossed, wearing a sour expression. Against his better instincts, he speaks up. “He’s dangerous, you know. My Uncle says he’s untameable.”

Ingrid turns. “Oh. It’s you.”

He grins. “The one and only! Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

Ingrid scowls. “Won’t you keep quiet?”

Sylvain laughs, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “That’s what they all say, Ingy.”

Ingrid’s cheeks turn crimson. “Don’t _call_ me that! Why are you even here? How are you and Lonato even related?”

Sylvain laughs again, but it's brittle. “The Gautiers are the black sheep of the family tree. You should see the rest of them.”

Ingrid cocks her head to the side. “Is that so?”

He shrugs. Why’d he bring up his family?

“I’m supposed to help you clean the stables,” he says. “Lonato sent me out.”

Ingrid grunts. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Go get a pitchfork. It’s faster if we both work on the same stall.”

“So,” Sylvain says, once they’ve gotten started on their round of stalls. “Why were you looking at Rodeo?”

Ingrid shrugs. “He’s a pretty horse.”

Sylvain dumps some shavings into the wheelbarrow. “Just making conversation. If we’re stuck doing work together, the least we can do is make small talk, right? Besides, I like Rodeo!”

Ingrid laughs. “ _You_ like Rodeo? I guess there really is a first time for everything.”

Sylvain bristles. “Hey! That’s not fair. Rodeo’s a sweet horse, even if he is a little dangerous right now. He’s just scared, and maybe he doesn't know what’s going on! Maybe he’s lonely. I feel bad for him.”

Ingrid watches him, a wide-eyed, curious expression on her face. “Rodeo is?”

Sylvain’s face feels hot. He turns away from her. “Yeah. Maybe. Whatever.”

“Right,” Ingrid says. “You’ve been here how long?’

“A week and a half,” Sylvain replies. “Why? Are you going to lecture me about that?”

“No, I just…” Ingrid sighs. “Have you been on a horse yet?”

Sylvain thinks back to Rodeo on that first day, crying so loud it seemed it might fracture his skull. “No,” he says. “I haven’t.”

“Right,” Ingrid says again. She moves the wheelbarrow over to the next stall, then wipes the sweat off her brow. “Do you want to learn? How to ride, I mean.”

Sylvain leans some of his weight on his pitchfork. Lonato’s told him a couple of times not to do that, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “I don’t know.” He feels hot, all of a sudden, his jean s and t-shirt suddenly far too much clothing for the summer heat. “I don’t know if I could learn.Without the right teacher.”

Ingrid pauses to wipe the sweat from her brow. “I could. Be the right teacher, I mean.”

There’s no reason to believe her. Sylvain chews on his lip and adjusts his grip on his pitchfork. “Do you think you could teach me how to ride Rodeo?”

Ingrid sighs. It’s loud amidst the quiet of the barn, and something about it makes Sylvain’s heart ache. When she speaks, it’s almost gentle. “I don’t think that Rodeo is the kind of horse that gets ridden.”

“C’mon,” Sylvain says. “Please? He’s lonely.” 

_I’m lonely_ , he thinks about saying.

Ingrid drums her fingers on the wooden pitchfork. Her nails are short and ragged and covered in dirt. She’s nothing like any of the girls Sylvain hung out with back home. He wonders if she wants to be. “You have to start on other horses,” she says. “If that goes well, then… we’ll see about Rodeo.”

Sylvain grins. “You won’t regret it.” He gets back to work without another word, but his only thoughts are of Rodeo.

-

The next day, Ingrid walks him through what all of the brushes do before promptly abandoning him to braid Mietta’s mane. He’s leaning to groom a horse today, and his test subject is Alexander, an old gelding of Lonato’s. He’s calm, predictable, and as Ingrid is so fond of saying, perfect for beginners.

“You know,” he says for at least the eight time, “I’m not a beginner.” He’s grooming Alexander under her ‘supervision,’ which consists of her playing with Mietta on the far side of the aisle and glancing over at him occasionally. 

“Yes, you are.” Ingrid rubber bands the braid she was working on. “What would you do if he suddenly broke his crossties and tried to run?”

Sylvain looks over at Alexander. The gelding is fast asleep, one hoof cocked slightly. 

“Yeah, because he’s likely to do that.”

“He could! Horses are dangerous, Sylvain. They’re nice and our friends, but they’re also powerful creatures. You’re never going to be any sort of rider if you don’t respect that about them.”

He sighs and goes back to currying. “Alright. Fine, tell me what I should do if he breaks his crossties and tries to bolt. I know you want to.”

-

Sylvain’s first ride on Alexander isn’t anything complicated. Ingrid shows him how to tack up a horse, walking him through how to tie a cinch and bridle a horse. “There we go,” she says, a small, pleased smile on her face. “You look like an actual rider now.”

Sylvain laughs and strokes Alexander’s neck. “Do I need a cowboy hat?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “You’re not ready yet. You have to earn the cowboy hat.”

Sylvain pouts. “Aw, come on! Wouldn’t I look handsome?”

Ingrid sighs. “Just get on the horse, Sylvain.”

Sylvain laughs again, but climbs onto Alexander obligingly. He hates to admit it, but he wants to be good at this. He wants Ingrid to think he’s good at this. “Okay,” he says. “I’m ready.”

-

“I just wanted to say, Sylvain.” Lonato pauses, moving his pasta around his plate without actually picking any up. Dinner has been especially quiet tonight, although Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s still thinking about Alexander, and the way it’d felt to trot carefully around the ring under Ingrid’s watchful eye. “I’m… glad you’re here. From the way my sister talked about you, I thought… well. I don’t know what I thought.”

Sylvain swallows. “I can imagine.”

“You’re a good kid,” Lonato says. Sylvain isn’t expecting it, nor is he expecting the way he flinches away from it. “I’m sorry if my sister has ever led you to believe otherwise.”

“I-” Sylvain’s words strangle him. He’s voiceless, unable to do anything but listen.

“I know you’re a junior,” Lonato says. “And you’re going back to college at the end of the summer. And I know you’ll have internships and the like but,” he pauses. “I guess what I’m saying is that you’re always welcome here. You don’t have to go back to that house.”

Sylvain’s always known that he’s going to be a Gautier for the rest of his life. Even if he changes his name and dyes his hair, in his bones that’s still who he’ll be at the end of it all. The same blood runs in Lonato’s veins. The same curse.

Except Lonato doesn’t even seem to realize. He gets to live here, oblivious and happy, for as long as he wants. The rush of anger that shoots through Sylvain is not unexpected, but the gratitude that follows it is. He swallows down his fear, lifts his head, and looks Lonato in the eyes. “I’d like that.”

Lonato’s tentative smile is answer enough. Sylvain’s heart feels all the lighter for it.

-

It’s late in the evening the first time Sylvain sneaks out to see Rodeo. The night is quiet and still, and if he looked up, he’s sure he’d see stars he didn’t even know existed. The barn door creaks slowly when he pushes it open, and the automatic lights in the barn click on. He flinches, but none of the horses take note. Rodeo doesn’t lift his head until Sylvain slides the bolt on his stall open and lets himself in.

“Hey boy,” he whispers, reaching out with a trembling hand. The moment before Rodeo extends his nose to touch Sylvain’s hand gently, he realizes he’s never actually spent any significant amount of time alone with the gelding. He’s relying on a feeling and nothing else.

Rodeo sniffs his fingers then sighs heavily, as though he’s letting go of some great stress. Sylvain sighs back, and Rodeo pricks his ears.

“No one has to know,” Sylvain whispers, brushing a gentle hand over Rodeo’s cheek. The gelding huffs, then shoves his head into Sylvain’s chest. He lets out a quiet laugh, gently stroking the star on Rodeo’s head. “Everyone is so scared of you,” he muses. “You just need a friend, don’t you?”

Rodeo presses a little closer to Sylvain. He rests his chin on top of Rodeo’s poll, right in the space between his ears. “You’re a good horse,” he says softly. “I’ll keep you safe.”

When he pulls away, Rodeo watches with bright and eager eyes. Even though it’s only been a short time since he started learning how to ride, he knows he’s ready for this. He grooms Rodeo with trembling hands, then saddles and bridles him quickly. The night is stark and quiet, and the clanging sound reverberates through his skull when he closes the gate to the round pen behind them.

-

Sylvain first hears about the dance while Lonato’s helping two young women get their horses ready. They’re pretty, with wide smiles and eyes that would be easy to get lost in. He should talk to them. He should want to talk to them.

“Oh, I bought my dress ages ago!” one of them says. She has vivid green eyes and long brown hair, and yet Sylvain’s eyes slide right over her. “I love the dance, I look forward to it every year.”

“I’m not much for dances,” her companion says. “But it is nice to have a chance to talk to everyone. Everyone’s so uptight, it’s nice to have a break!”

“Sorry,” Sylvain says. “Did you say a dance?”

The brown haired girl looks at him quizzically. “The Dominics have a dance every summer. Have you really never heard of it?”

“I’m just visiting,” Sylvain says. “I’m Lonato’s nephew.”

“Oh!” She brightens considerably. “In that case, no wonder you didn’t know about the dance! You should come, it’s really fun. It’s next Saturday!”

Sylvain nods, a plan already formulating.

-

Sylvain’s lucky that he and Ingrid spend so much time together. They’re alone together the very next day, as Ingrid gives him another riding lesson on Alexander. He’s been working on walking and jogging independently of a lunge line, and so far it’s going great. He likes it far more than he thought he would, and Alexander’s a good sport about everything, as far as he can tell.

It’s going well enough that Ingrid tacks Mietta up and joins him, exercising her as he works on transitions and being able to comfortably sit a jog. After, they untack together, Ingrid humming along with the old country song playing from the radio. It’s a hot, dusty day, and his shirt is sticky with sweat. Alexander will need to be hosed off, and Mietta could use a quick bath too. 

Sylvain shoots a timid smile at Ingrid. “Hey, have you heard about the dance?”

Ingrid stops humming, and only then does he realize how much he’d loved the sound of her voice. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Everyone talks about it a whole bunch, but it’s not very exciting. Just a bunch of farm kids in a barn with some shitty lights. I didn’t realize you knew about it.”

Sylvain shrugs. “I didn’t know you had such strong opinions.”

Ingrid toys with a strand of Mietta’s mane. “Well. I mean, I’ve never gone. That’s just what I’ve heard.”

Sylvain laughs. “Never? Really?”

Ingrid purses her lips. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I help Lonato out here when I’m not helping at home, and most people around here aren’t trying to go professional. I don’t have anything to talk to them about.”

Sylvain considers. Ingrid isn’t nice, exactly, but she’s never been malicious on purpose to him. He’s always got the impression that if she seriously upset him, she’d apologize, or stop, or at least do _something_. “You talk to me all the time, and you’re plenty nice to me.” he says.

Ingrid clips Mietta’s lead rope to her halter. “You’re mean enough to yourself. I don’t think you need anything more than some teasing from me.”

Oh. Sylvain’s face feels hot. He swallows around the bundle of anxiety in his chest, and strokes a hand down Alexander’s neck to study himself. “In that case… if you’ve never gone before. I don’t have a lot of friends either. We could go together?”

The silence hangs in the air for a beat too long. When Ingrid speaks, her voice is tighter than normal. “If you want to. Yeah.”

Sylvain ducks his head. “Cool. Okay.”

-

“I heard Ingrid’s been teaching you how to ride.” 

Lonato’s voice, normally so smooth and sincere, sounds uncharacteristically reserved.

Sylvain tenses, ducking his head and staring deep into his bowl of oatmeal. “Yeah. You told me to try to make friends, didn’t you?”

“You misunderstand,” Lonato says. “This is a good thing. Ingrid’s a bright young girl.”

Sylvain nods. “Yeah. She sure knows a lot about horses.”

“Mm,” Lonato replies. “Of course. She’s teaching you on Alexander, yes?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sylvain takes a sip of his water. “Is that… alright?”

“Of course! How are you liking him?”

“He’s a great horse. Very sweet.” Sylvain pauses. “Very… safe.”

“First horses often are.” Lonato finishes his oatmeal and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And what about Rodeo? How are your rides with him?”

“Good!” Sylvain brightens, his face splitting in a grin. His grin vanishes as soon as it’d appeared. That’s wrong. It’s not good - he’s not - they’re not. Fuck. 

“I mean. Sorry, I haven’t ridden him. I’ve only groomed Rodeo. He’s dangerous, right? Unrideable. You told me not to.” Panic rises in his throat, but he could still get away with this. He just has to keep his smile up and Lonato will remember that he’s an idiot and will laugh it off.

“I’ve seen you,” Lonato says. “At night, with him. It’s dangerous.” 

Sylvain swallows. “I’m - I’m not doing anything stupid. Just walk and trot. I’m being careful.”

“Sylvain.” A dangerous warning lingers in Lonato’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says. 

It’s the same as when he’s with Miklan, and he knows that his apology isn’t going to mean a goddamn thing. He can’t stop himself from spitting it out, even if it feels like he’s losing a part of himself along with it. 

“Please don’t send me back.”

Lonato freezes. Sylvain’s eyes rove the room. Lonato’s between him and the stairs, which means if he needs to get away he’ll have to go through the front door. It’s not far. He could make it.

“Sylvain.” Lonato’s voice is low and careful, and he takes a small step backwards. Sylvain tenses, and Lonato raises his hands, slow. “It’s okay.”

Sylvain should never have tried to like it here. He should have ignored Lonatos’ attempts to bond, and never spoken to Ingrid in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I’m not going to send you back,” Lonato says. “I’m a man of my word.”

Sylvain nods, his gaze darting over to the door. “Okay.”

Lonato sits down at the table, very slowly, and very carefully. Sylvain is going to explode. He’s a timebomb, he’s a hand grenade, he’s a molotov cocktail. “I’m upset that you rode Rodeo after I told you not to,” Lonato says. “But I’m not going to send you away. You made a mistake. You’re allowed to.”

Sylvain’s heard thuds in his throat. “I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to,” Lonato says. “If you want to belong here, you do. I’m upset at you, but I’m not going to punish you. It’s okay.”

Lonato isn’t moving, and he doesn’t look mad. There’s an extra wrinkle between his brow, but his hands are on the table and his voice is steady. “We can talk about this later, if you want,” he says.

Sylvain doesn’t know what he wants. He’s shaking a little, he thinks. “Okay.”

“Good,” Lonato says. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Sylvain’s answering nod is jerky and stiff, but Lonato smiles at him all the same. He slinks out of the house and then hurries to the barn, his head bowed in shame. Rodeo nickers softly when Sylvain lets himself into his stall, and the gelding doesn’t move when Sylvain throws his arms around his neck and buries his face in his mane.

-

Sylvain is quickly realizing that he’s not as subtle as he thought he was. He manages to keep his continued time spent with Rodeo a secret from Lonato, making sure to only spend time with the gelding when he’s positive Lonato isn’t at home. Ingrid, however, slips his attention. She catches the two of them coming in from a quick ride late one evening while she’s feeding the horses.

He walks into the barn, Rodeo in tow, and freezes when they make eye contact. “Ingrid. Hey. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Ingrid crosses her arms. “You know, I was just wondering why Rodeo wasn’t in his stall.”

The horse at Sylvain’s side snorts and paws at the ground. Sylvain shushes him. Lonato’s certainly right about one thing in regards to Rodeo - he’s more work than any of the other horses. He needs constant attention, even when they’re just standing in the barn aisle. “I took him for a walk.”

“Sure you did,” Ingrid says. 

He grimaces. “Ingrid. I know you heard Lonato, but-”

“Relax,” Ingrid’s voice is soft. “I’m not going to tell.”

Sylvain leads Rodeo back into his stall and slips his bridle off. “Do you promise?”

“I know I’m not…” she sighs. “I can see why you think I would tell. But I don’t want to be that person to you.”

Sylvain undoes Rodeo’s girth and sets his saddle heavily on the saddle rack just outside of his stall. “Yeah?” Rodeo noses at Sylvain’s arm, and he turns to scratch delicately behind his ears. “Thanks, then. I… that’s good of you.”

“Mm.” Ingrid shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I… Mietta’s my best friend. If you feel at all about Rodeo the way I do about her then I wouldn’t want to deprive you of that.” She sounds stiff, and a little reserved, but Sylvain smiles despite himself.

“You’re nicer than I gave you credit for,” he says. “We’re still on for the dance tomorrow, aren’t we?”

A flash of a smile on Ingrid’s face. “Yes! I mean, if you would still like to. Go with me, that is.”

Sylvain picks up a hard brush and gets to work grooming Rodeo. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

Ingrid dumps Rodeo’s feed into his bucket. “Right. See you then.”

-

Sylvain’s mostly been to college parties, with loud music, drunk frat boys, and pretty girls that are easy to lose himself in. Last spring break, him and a few of the guys went down to Florida, and Sylvain got so drunk at a party there that he has a solid six hour block he doesn’t remember a damn thing from.

This promises to be different. Lonato ironed a crisp black dress shirt for him, and Sylvain wiped his shoes down with saddle soap from the barn. He gets special permission to borrow Loanto’s truck for the evening, and before he leaves his Uncle stops him and places firm hands on his shoulders. “Be home by midnight,” he says.

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “I don’t think this is going to be much of a party compared to what I’m used to.”

“Maybe not,” Lonato admits. “But be home by midnight, and don’t do anything stupid.”

Sylvain laughs. “I’m always stupid.”

“Mm,” Lonato says. “Midnight.”

Sylvain nods, and Lonato claps him on the shoulder. “Good boy. Have fun. Tell Ingrid I say hello.”

Sylvain nods jerkily, wipes his hands on his jeans, and sets off. 

Sylvain can’t remember the last time he was nervous on a date. For that is what this is, isn’t it? A date? He didn’t check with Ingrid in so many words. He should have asked, should have taken her hand and smiled at her in the way he’s always smiled at girls.

No. That wouldn’t have worked. She’d have seen right through him. It’s better this way. This gives them both plausible deniability if it goes poorly, and will let them both be happy if it goes well.

It’s a short drive to the Galatea family ranch, and he pulls up outside her house, dithering for far too long. He’s only been here once before. It’s a small stable, with only a few horses. For the most part, the Galatea family raises cattle, although their herds have apparently shrunk in recent years. He takes a deep breath, turns the car off, and walks up to the door.

He knocks, and after a moment an older man opens the door. “Ah. So you’re Lonato’s nephew.”

Sylvain extends a hand. “Yes sir. It’s nice to meet you.” He’s trying to sound sincere, although it’s been a long time since he’s done so around a girl’s father. It’s unclear how it’s going.

Ingrid’s father grunts. “She’ll be right down.” He steps to the side, and Sylvain hesitantly steps into the house.

They stand in an estranged silence, and then Ingrid finally walks downstairs and saves them both. She’s not - well she’s not ethereal. She’s still Ingrid. Her bangs are unevenly cut, and there’s a scratch on her cheek from one of the barn cats that hasn’t healed yet. Her nose is sunburnt and her dress has a stain on the collar, but her smile is as lovely as ever.

“Hey,” Sylvain says. There’s ribbons in Ingrid’s hair. _Ribbons._ She waves, awkwardly. “Hey.” She has on a green dress, with a blue ruffled collar and a matching ruffle at the bottom. It’s a decided break from the barn clothes he usually sees her in.

Her father grunts. “Be home by eleven.”

Ingrid sighs. “Really? I’m eighteen, dad. And we’re just going to Annette’s.”

“Behave, or else it’s ten.”

Ingrid grimaces. “Fine. Eleven sounds great. Sylvain? Let’s go.” She drags him out of the house after her, and it’s not until they’re settled in the truck that they speak again.

“Your dad seems nice,” Sylvain says, cautious.

Ingrid grunts. “He’s fine.”

“Right,” Sylvain says. It’s a short drive to the Dominic’s, and he’s grateful for it. For once, he has no clue what to say.

-

The yearly barn dance is held at the Dominic family ranch. Sylvain hasn’t spoken to Annette more than once or twice, although Ingrid insists that they have plenty in common. They’re both staying with their uncles instead of their direct family, and they both ride horses. According to Ingrid, that’s plenty to base a friendship off of. 

Sylvain isn’t convinced.

Nonetheless, their hostess greets them both warmly when they arrive at the barn. It’s just as Ingrid had described it - a normal barn, with the covered indoor ring decorated as though for a party. There’s white fairy lights up, some cheap speakers fuzzily blaring out music, and hay bales set up around folding tables to serve as seats. There’s a low table with some punch and snacks, and a pitiful excuse for a dance floor.

It deserves to be made fun of. Sylvain would like very badly to make fun of it. He glances over to Ingrid, a sly smile already fixed to his face. It doesn’t last long; Ingrid’s eyes are shining, the reflections of the lights dancing in them. She’s aglow, an ear-splitting grin on her face. She has the faintest bit of makeup on - nothing much, just a smear of eyeshadow and a hint of blush. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice earlier.

She jerks when she notices him looking at her. “Sorry. Do I have something on my face? You look funny.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No. Just… taking it in, I guess. I’ve never been to a dance like this.”

“Me neither,” Ingrid says. “We can figure it out together.”

It shouldn’t be comforting, but the tight knot of anxiety in his chest eases anyways. “Yeah. We can, huh?”

The party isn’t as intimidating as either of them made it out to be. They chat with a few people Ingrid knows, and Sylvain mostly follows her around and nods whenever she talks about barrel racing. They drink the (sadly unspiked) punch, and eat some of the food Annette’s family has put out. It’s a nice night, all things considered.

Sylvain turns towards Ingrid. “Dance with me?”

Ingrid’s face flushes. “I-”

“You’re my date,” Sylvain says. “Aren’t you?”

Ingrid tightens her grip on her red solo cup, then glances over to the dance floor. It’s kind of adorable how worried she is about it all. 

“Come on,” Sylvain says. “None of them give a shit about us. Let me dance with you.”

Ingrid bites her lip.

“Please?”

Ingrid flushes. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.” 

She sets down her plastic cup of punch, then takes Sylvain’s outstretched hand. They make their way out to the admittedly pitiful dance floor, and Ingrid carefully places a hand on his shoulder. Sylvain smiles and she relaxes. When he touches her waist, she’s stiff, but she doesn’t run, and lets him pull her in close.

“It’s just me,” he says.

Ingrid’s cheeks flush. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” he replies. Ingrid’s answering smile is a little less flimsy, and as they sway gently in time with the fuzzy music the speakers pump out, she slowly starts to come out of her shell.

“So,” he asks somewhere around the third dance. “Is it everything you thought it would be?”

Ingrid laughs and takes a half-step closer, resting her head cautiously on his shoulder. It’s nothing new, and is in fact nothing worth getting excited over, but his stupid heart doesn’t seem to care. It beats so hard it may very well burst, and he swallows and lets go of Ingrid’s hand, wrapping both his arms gently around her waist. This close, Ingrid seems less like a formidable rider there to critique his every move, and more like any other girl.

Huh. He’s never realized that she could be both at once before. 

Ingrid loops her arms around his neck, and Sylvain turns them slowly. They feel like the only people at the party, and even though he doesn’t know most of these other people, he doesn’t care. Before this summer, he would have paid attention to the girls huddling in corners with their punch and flashed sly smiles at any of the men whose eyes he could watch.

Instead, there’s only this: Ingrid’s green eyes looking up at him, the small tired smile on her face and the slight sunburn on her nose. “You look really pretty. I forgot to tell you earlier.”

Ingrid laughs and flushes just a little. “Thanks. My mom picked out this dress. I can’t decide if I like it.”

“Well,” Sylvain says. “I like it if you do, and if you don’t I think it sucks ass.”

Ingrid laughs, like bells or hoofbeats or all sorts of unfathomably lovely things that Sylvain has never quite been able to grasp until just this moment. “I’ll tell you once I make up my mind.”

They dance for a little longer, Ingrid curled close to him like a precious gem. “You know,” she says. “I don’t know that much about you. Why are you staying with Lonato anyways?”

Sylvain turns them in a circle, trying to distract Ingrid from the sudden grimace that overtakes his face. “Oh, you know how college is. Broadening your experiences, and all that.” The song ends, and Sylvain plasters a smile onto his face. “Want to go for a walk? We could go say hi to some of the horses.”

Ingrid smooths her skirt and doesn’t mention him dancing around the question. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

She leads the way through a side door at the back of the ring, ignoring a sign that cheerfully proclaims that it’s for barn personnel only. “Annette and I used to be really good friends.”

Sylvain looks around the barn. The aisle is freshly swept, and the smell of hay hangs in the air like a blessing. “Did something happen?”

Ingrid shrugs. “Her dad left. We were kids, and I didn’t know what to say. Her and her mom moved in with their Uncle, and we went from being next door neighbors to a fifteen minute drive. I wasn’t a very good friend to her. I still don’t know what to say when she’s so kind to me.”

“Annette seems like a very kind person,” Sylvain remarks. “Just, like, in general. She’s nice.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “You could try reaching out to her. I think she’d like it.”

“Yeah?” Ingrid’s voice warms, and they continue down the barn aisle, a hair’s breadth from each other. “I probably should. I’ll… think about it.”

Sylvain could take her hand if she’d let him. Instead, he takes the coward’s approach and keeps walking at her side, a careful distance between the two of them. 

“Thanks for inviting me.” Ingrid breaks the silence first. “It’s been a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I should have come earlier. I thought… well, I guess I thought I would come and everyone would make fun of me or something.”

Sylvain considers. “I don’t think anyone cares about you that much.”

“Sylvain!” Ingrid scowls, her expression twisted into cautious hurt.

“No! Crap, sorry, that’s not what I meant! It’s just… that seems awfully self-involved. Everyone is too busy worrying about if they look alright or if their date likes them. They’re not here waiting to talk shit about you.” Sylvain frowns. “Everyone’s here to have a nice night, not to ruin yours.”

Ingrid is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I’d never thought about it like that.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sylvain says. “If that counts for anything. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“Really? This seems like exactly the kind of thing you live for.”

Sylvain looks at the curve of Ingrid’s jaw and the curl of her hair. “I’m finding new things to live for.”

It’s just the two of them, isn’t it? Sylvain stops in front of an unmarked door. “Hold on a second.”

Ingrid turns. “Is everything okay?”

He takes a deep breath. He can do this. He’s done this before, with girls he liked half as much. It shouldn’t be harder with Ingrid. They’re facing each other, and Sylvain takes a step closer. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just… wanted to tell you something.” He swallows and sets his hand on her upper arm. Her dress is cool and stuff underneath his hand, but he can feel the warmth of her skin just beneath it. She’s tangible and real and, hopefully, not going anywhere.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain says. “I-”

“Oh!” A giggle. Sylvain jerks his head up, meeting Annette’s gaze. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But you’re really not supposed to be back here. I know you’re fine with the horses Ingrid, but my uncle worries.”

Ingrid’s face is crimson. “No, I get it. Don’t worry.”

Sylvain’s hand is still on Ingrid’s arm. He jerks away, his hand burning. “Sorry.”

Annette smiles blandly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

Ingrid makes an awkward motion with her hand, as though she can’t decide if she wants to touch her face or Sylvain’s hand or to pat Annette on the shoulder. “Right. Thanks. Sorry again.”

Annette laughs, high and haunting. It’s not meant to be malicious, but it sticks under Sylvain’s skin and the sound of it follows him as they head back to the party. Even once Ingrid stammeringly suggests that he take her home, Sylvain thinks for a moment that Annette’s laugher will flow from his truck’s speakers, mocking him for being too much of a coward to kiss Ingrid.

-

Lonato goes to get hay every first Monday of the month. It wouldn’t take long, but Lonato gets hay from the Blaidyyd family, and Lonato and Lambert both love to hear themselves talk. He’ll be gone for hours at this rate, and Sylvain enjoys the unprecedented freedom. Him and Ingrid are meant to be cleaning the whole stables top to bottom while he’s gone, but as soon as the truck and trailer round the bend, Sylvain puts his pitchfork away.

“Want to go on a trail ride?”

Ingrid keeps diligently picking the stall she’s on. “We shouldn’t.”

“The barn won’t look clean no matter how hard we clean.”

She purses her lips. “We’ll get in trouble.”

Sylvain leans against the wall and grins as charmingly as he can. “You can blame it all on me. Say I seduced you.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

He’s almost got her. His smile widens, and he tilts his chin slightly, waiting.

It’s not even a minute before Ingrid sighs and leans her pitchfork up against the wall. “A short one. Nothing long.”

“Sure,” Sylvain says. “I bet Rodeo and I can get ready before you and Mietta.”

Ingrid frowns. “Rude!” 

She’s off like a kite though, diving in front of him to get in the tack room first and grab Mietta’s things. The two of them win, although Sylvain doesn’t know what he expected. Mietta’s far more patient than Rodeo, and Ingrid’s been riding her whole life. Her hands are far quicker than Sylvain’s will ever be. Still, it’s closer than he thought, and Ingrid only has to wait a few minutes before the two of them make their way out.

She smiles at him before swinging into her saddle, and doesn’t wait for Sylvain before walking off. He scrambles onto Rodeo and then follows her, letting himself be led through the woods in silence. The sunlight shines through the trees, dappling the world around them and reflecting brightly off of Ingrid’s hair. Were Sylvain a poet, he’d call her a beacon, guiding him through a tumultuous time.

But he is no poet, and Ingrid is just a girl, and a ride through the woods is nothing tumultuous. 

Rodeo is for once content to merely follow behind Ingrid, and before long they reach a small, lush clearing with a thin stream winding through it. 

“Let’s stop here,” Ingrid urges. She halts Mietta, glancing over her shoulder at Sylvain. “They could both use a break.”

Sylvain nods, stopping Rodeo and dismounting after a moment. Ingrid hops off of Mietta and changes her bridle for a rope halter, tossing a spare to Sylvain. He loosens Rodeo’s girth and puts the halter on, hanging the bridle on a tree branch. He ties a quick pull-release not with plenty of slack, then heads over to wear Ingrid is already sitting on the grass. He throws himself down next to her, smiling when she turns a doubtful glance his way.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You know,” Sylvain says. “I never thanked you for coming to the dance with me. I had fun.” Ingrid pulls her knees up to her chest. “I had fun too.”

Sylvain sits up, brushing pieces of grass out of his hair. “Good. I’m glad.”

They sit in an awkward, stagnant silence for some time, everything Sylvain wishes he could say on the tip of his tongue.

“Why are you here?” Ingrid asks. It’s soft and hesitant, and she’s looking at their horses rather than Sylvain. He doesn’t know why, but it bothers him. He wants her to be able to look at him when she asks these kinds of questions.

Sylvain shrugs. “Why are any of us here, Ingrid? I don’t know shit about philosophy.”

She sighs. “Sylvain! That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Every time I ask, you dodge the question and ignore me completely. Why are you _here?_ I know you’re from out east, but you don’t talk about any of your life back there. Do I know anything about you?”

“Yes!” Sylvain’s outburst takes him by surprise, but the emotion in his voice is too thick to be anything but painfully honest. “Ingrid, you’re the only person who does. I… none of it out there matters. It’s not me.”

Ingrid’s annoyed, and he’s not sure what he did to cause it. “But it is you! It’s what made you. Is it so wrong of me to want to know about all that?”

Sylvain understands why she was so hesitant to look at him earlier. Now, all he wants to do is get up and bury his face in Rodeo’s neck. He settles for a look at the still, crystalline water of the creek instead. “I guess not. Things at home aren’t… great. I mean, that’s why I got sent out here.” He lets out a hollow laugh, wishing he was able to make it sound more convincing than he knows it does. “My brother tried to kill me. Sorry, wait, that’s wrong! My brother tried to kill me _again._ ” 

Ingrid’s expression turns to one of fury in an instant. “And they sent _you_ away instead?”

That same, wretched laugh forces its way out of Sylvain’s throat. “Yeah. Pretty funny, huh?”

Sylvain thought it was bad enough when Ingrid was mad at him, but this is far worse. Pity is not an expression he enjoys in any situation, but here and now it makes him feel like a child. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Ingrid’s scowl is sharp enough to cut him. “I’m not,” she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “I’m not mad at _you_ , Sylvain. I’m mad at your family.”

“Oh.” Sylvain looks down at his hands. He doesn’t want to look at Ingrid. This is a mess. He never should have told her any of this.

“Sylvain?” Ingrid’s hand on his elbow is barely there.

He jerks away from the touch on instinct, his whole body going tense. Ingrid draws her hand back, and he misses the contact just as soon as he’d registered it wasn’t anything dangerous. “Sorry,” he says. “I get a little jumpy sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” Ingrid says. She curls her fingers into the grass, gripping the earth as though it’s a lifeline.

“My father wants me to get married.”

Sylvain frowns. “Isn’t that a normal thing for fathers to want?”

Ingrid laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.” She toys with the string of her cowboy hat. “He wants me to get married like, now though. No more college. No more barrel racing. Just… marriage.”

“I didn’t think things like that still happened,” Sylvain says. It’s a shitty, stupid thing to say, but it makes Ingrid laugh, so that counts for something.

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” she agrees. “He’s not going to be able to _make_ me get married. And I understand why he wants me to be. The things my family needs, the things the farm needs, it’s too much for one person. We don’t have enough money to pay farm hands right now, and if I don’t take care of it then… that’s it. I’m the only one of my siblings that likes any of this stuff. None of them will stick around to help. If I got married, it wouldn’t be just me, and we could hopefully get some help from another farm. No neighbor’s going to lend us money or bail us out of our debt out of the goodness of their heart. All we can hope is to scrape by.”

“Do you want that?” Sylvain whispers.

Ingrid looks up. “To scrape by?”

He nods.

“No one wants that.” Ingrid sighs. “Isn’t growing up about looking around and thinking that you can do better?”

Sylvain has never thought he could be better before this summer. He’s a Gautier, and he’ll never been anything other than what he was born as. “And you think you can? Do better, I mean.”

Ingrid’s mouth twists. The only sound is the rushing creek and the grazing horses and finally, her voice. “Yeah. I do.”

Sylvain thinks he can too. He kisses her, his mind blissfully blank of anything but Ingrid.

When he pulls away, Ingrid’s eyes are wide and there’s a flush to her cheeks. “Sylvain,” she says.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Ingrid’s eyes meet his. “I don’t want to be here forever,” she says. “I want to win Regionals and move on to Nationals. I want more than this.”

Sylvain’s mouth is dry. “Before this summer, I… didn’t think I’d be anything other than my family name.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I don’t give a damn about who your family is.”

This time, when they kiss, Sylvain isn’t afraid. He isn’t thinking about anything other than the moment he’s in. Ingrid’s lips are chapped and ragged against his, and when he cups her face with a hand, she lets out a half-laugh that makes his heart skip.

When he pulls away, they’re both smiling. His hand is still on her cheek. “Hey,” he whispers.

She rests her forehead against his. “Hey.”

Sylvain brushes his thumb over her cheekbone. Up close, Ingrid is just as rough and tumble as he’d expect. There’s bags under her eyes and dirt all over her face, but he kisses her again nonetheless. This is the way she should always be, he thinks. Ingrid belongs here, in the middle of the woods with leaves in her hair and dirt smudged on her cheeks.

He’s half on top of her, pressing her into the ground. Her eyes, greener than anything around them, open after a moment’s pause. “I should have kissed you earlier,” she says. “I finally got you to stop talking.”

She reaches up and smoothes her thumb over a scar on his temple. Miklan chased him around the house, and Sylvain ran into the corner of the wall and cracked his head open. It’s his first memory - being afraid, running from Miklan, and pain blooming almost exquisitely in the wake of it. Their mother had been furious. She’d had to drive Sylvain to the hospital, and have the wall retouched.

“We should head back soon,” he says. “Lonato should be home any minute. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Five more minutes?”

Sylvain laughs, and bends down to kiss her again. “Five more minutes.”

-

It’s only when they’re almost home that Sylvain realizes that they definitely spent more than five more minutes in the woods. It’s late afternoon, and the horses will be wanting dinner soon enough.

They emerge from the woods, and Sylvain lets out an audible sigh of relief. Lonato’s not back yet. He’s not going to find out that he’s been riding Rodeo, and he’s not going to get them both in trouble for not being there to help unload hay.

“We probably cut it a little too close,” Ingrid says.

Sylvain trots Rodeo into the round pen. “Yeah, probably.”

As if in punishment for his hubris, a low rumble comes from further down the road. Sylvain freezes, locking eyes with Ingrid. She makes a frantic shooing motion, and Sylvain throws himself off of Rodeo’s back, landing in roughly on his feet. Lonato pulls into the driveway just as Sylvain’s tossed his helmet to the side, praying it stays unnoticed.

Ingrid dismounts and shoots a grin at him. Sylvain smiles back - they might just have managed to get away with it.

Until, of course, Lonato climbs out of his truck and walks over to the round pen. Sylvain smiles. “Hey Lonato!”

Lonato frowns. “Why is Rodeo tacked up?”

Oh. Sylvain forgot about that part. He rubs the back of his neck. “Um. We were… working on getting him used to tack?”

Lonato narrows his eyes. “Sylvain.”

“Okay, okay, I never stopped riding him!” Sylvain tightens his grip on Rodeo’s reins. “But you don’t understand!”

Lonato sighs. “What don’t I understand?”

“He’s a good horse!” Sylvain protests. “And more than that he’s… he’s my friend.”

“Sylvain-”

Rodeo steps closer to Sylvain and noses his arm. Sylvain’s smile breaks across his face like the dawn, and he presses himself to the horses side, curling a hand in his mane. “Please.”

Lonato scrubs a hand across his face. “How long has this been going on?”

Sylvain and Ingrid share a glance. “Um,” Sylvain says. “A while.”

“They’re good together!” Ingrid chimes in, finally speaking up. A rush of gratitude shoots through Sylvain, and he smiles tentatively at her. “Rodeo likes Sylvain. He’s made progress far faster than I expected, and Sylvain is a gifted rider. He works hard and has come a long way.”

Sylvain wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt endorsement of his skills. It makes his chest feel tight, like he’s just been given a hug he wasn’t expecting.

Lonato sighs again. Sylvain wonders if he’s always sighed that much, or if Sylvain just has that effect on people. “Fine!” he exclaims. “Fine! I know you’re not going to listen to me no matter what I say, so I may as well give in.”

Sylvain freezes. “Really?”

“You’re still in trouble,” Lonato says. “You went against my direct wishes, and you, Ingrid, went along with it. I have half a mind to tell your father. But… Rodeo does seem to like you, and I do believe that every horse is good deep down.” Rodeo presses his shoulder to Sylvain’s, and Lonato’s mouth lifts in a small smile. “You’ll both be doing extra barn work for a while, but in the meantime… I don’t see why I can’t give you proper lessons on Rodeo. Just don’t go out on any trail rides without my go-ahead.”

Sylvain nods, his heart hammering jackrabbit fast in his chest. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lonato. Thank you so much.”

Lonato shrugs. “Put your horses away and then make yourselves useful and help me unload hay.” He walks around to the back of the truck, leaving Ingrid and Sylvain alone together.

Ingrid’s smile is blinding. “We did it! I can’t believe he said that.”

Sylvain’s chest is tight. “Me neither. I… thought he was going to send me away.” He reaches out and takes Ingrid’s hand, gentle and cautious. “I should tell you, I… think I’m going to come back here for the rest of my breaks from school. Lonato and I talked about me spending Christmas here.”

Ingrid ear-splitting grin and bright eyes are an answer in themself. “Sylvain, that’s great! You might even be able to come to Nationals! Um, assuming I qualify, that is.”

Sylvain lets out a soft laugh. “You’ll qualify.” 

She flushes. “Thanks.”

He squeezes her hand. “I mean it. You’re something special.”

Ingrid looks up at him. “So are you.”

This time, when he leans down to kiss her, there’s no fear hanging over his head. There’s just this moment, this kiss, and the knowledge that another will come soon.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat on twitter @edelgardlesbian!


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